


Her Name

by Fadetouch



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Minor Trespasser Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-04-22 16:01:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4841663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fadetouch/pseuds/Fadetouch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short little thing. After Corypheus is defeated, the Inquisition gathers for celebratory drinks in the tavern.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Her Name

Herald’s Rest was busier than he’d ever seen it. The Inquisitor’s recent victory against that darkspawn magister had put everyone in a drinking mood; there wasn’t a single empty chair in the entire tavern. Rowdy victory cheers mingled with tears for those lost in the fighting, and the drunken conversations filled the air.   
  
Dalish and Rocky were in the middle of a staring contest, although Krem wasn’t sure who was winning. Both of them seemed to be glassy-eyed and staring off into empty space rather than at each other. A scattered round of applause made its way around the tavern as the minstrel by the hearth bowed, lute in hand, after finishing another song. Krem sat forward and swirled what little ale was left in his bottle. He didn’t notice the Chief watching him, and the large hand clapped on his shoulder almost knocked Krem out of his chair.   
  
“Don’t think I haven’t noticed you staring all night, Krem.”  
“I’m not—Wait, is that jealousy, Chief? ”  
“Nah, not even a little bit.” Bull turned his gaze to the backside of a dwarven barmaid as she gathered empty ale mugs. “Why don’t you just go and say something?”  
“Say someth—? I have no idea what you’re talking about, Chief.”  
“Do Vints not know how to talk to pretty women?”  
“ _Riiight_ , because the Qunari are known for their smooth talking and courtship.”  
“Courtship has nothing to do with it, Krem. See, it’s all about the—”  
“Oh, uh, that’s alright, Chief, I uh— I think I’m just gonna get another drink.”  
  
The warm ale burned his throat as he downed the last of it in one thick gulp. Krem shook his head and stood, determined to head straight to the bar. He would absolutely not make eye contact with the minstrel. He wouldn’t glance at her as he passed by. He would most certainly not admire the deftness with which she plucked the strings of her lute. He would not sigh as he watched her eyes close as she crooned the highest notes of her song. He would not notice the way she bit her bottom lip when she moved between frets. He would head straight to the bar and order his drink, just like he always did.  
  
A blur of plaideweave crashed into Krem’s shoulder, sending him reeling, still dizzy from chugging the last bit of ale. He nearly fell into the hearth, but a soft pair of hands steadied him just in time.   
“ _Watch it!_ ” Oh, Sera. Never an agreeable girl indeed.   
“That was a close one! Are you alright?”  
  
She spoke.   
To him.  
  
“Me? I’m—” Krem had gone completely still. He cleared his throat, stood up straight and clasped his shaking hands behind his back. “I—I’m fine, thank you.”  
“My pleasure.” The minstrel offered a small smile as she brushed a loose tuft of black hair away from her eyes. Their collision had loosened some of her braid, and warm flushes of guilt spread up through Krem’s face. He hoped and prayed the flickering torchlight would hide it.   
Their eyes met and the world stood still around them.  
“Anyway, I really should be—”  
“—what’s your name?”  
“ _KRRRREEEEEEEEM. DRIIIIIIIIIINKS_.” The Chief rumbled from across the tavern, drowning out every other drunken voice. Krem sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.   
“I’m sorry. I—I should go.”

He turned on his heel and pushed his way through the crowd to the bar. He wished he had given his name. He wished he had stayed to get her name.   
Krem ordered another round of drinks for the Chief and the Chargers. Lucky for him, the Inquisitor was paying everyone’s tab tonight in light of their victory against Corypheus.   
  
He smiled to himself and ordered an extra drink.  
For her.   
  
“Should I tell the lady who sent this particular drink?”  
“No! No—” Krem cleared his throat again. “I mean, no. That’s alright.”  
He sauntered back to his chair, deliberately avoiding eye contact with the minstrel by the hearth. The Chargers gathered around Krem as their drinks were delivered by the dwarven barmaid. Stitches and Rocky started the Charger Chant, and soon the entire tavern was singing along with raised glasses.   
  
Krem glanced over to the hearth, and saw the minstrel raising her own glass.  
She was singing along, too.   
And smiling right at him.


End file.
